


Now It's Time To Make Your Own Demands

by Shoshanna Gold (shoshannagold)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: BDSM, Established Relationship, M/M, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-09
Updated: 2010-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoshannagold/pseuds/Shoshanna%20Gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always been about give and take between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now It's Time To Make Your Own Demands

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Safeword 'verse](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/1986) by Queeniegalore. 



> Title from "Take Back The City". This was written as a response to queeniegalore's Safeword 'verse specifically Give Up, which she finished by saying "NOW YOU," to which I said, "Wheeee! Can I really?!?" The rest of that conversation can be easily imagined by reading the story below. If you haven't read Queenie's story, I suggest that you start there. Not only is this the direct sequel to Give Up, it's smokin' hot!
> 
> Huge beta thanks to geneli4, who is my porn goddess; to queeniegalore, who not only let me play in her 'verse, but made sure I did a good job of it; and to perpet_fic, who dots my 'I's and crosses my 'T's. And, as always, to mydocuments, who is the double-cream in my oreo.

The belt made a cracking sound when it hit Walt's back, just below the line of his rucked-up t-shirt. Walt caught his breath, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as he wanted it to. The first blow never did, but he knew Ray would get him there. Still, he got that much harder. Ray hit him again, just below the first mark: Walt knew it would be exactly in line with the first one. Ray was never sloppy when it came to Walt.

Ray stopped after the third blow fell. Walt didn't say anything, didn't turn to look at him. Ray was working something out and Walt was happy to lie where he was all night while Ray plotted the most effective way to bring Walt to the edge. Walt had some suggestions, but this was Ray's show.

A minute later Ray put the belt down and straddled Walt's back. He softly touched the marks he had made and Walt arched back as Ray traced his fingernails over the first welt, the one that had landed the hardest. Ray didn't linger there, moving up until his hands wrapped around Walts' on the bedpost "These stay here unless I say different," he said, "It's exactly like you're tied to the bed. You can't undo the knots on your own; you have to ask me to release you. But it's going to be harder than that, because it seems like you can let go at any minute. You can't. Understand?"

He did. Ray was the one in control of all aspects of this whipping, exactly how Walt wanted him to be. "Yes."

"Good." Ray pulled back and licked the lines on Walt's back, very lightly biting down on each one. Walt moaned and ground down into the bed, trying to get some friction on his cock through the layers of his clothes.

"I'm not going to stop if you come in your skivvies," said Ray, low in his ear. "I'll leave you in them until I'm good and ready for them to come off. And it's not like you won't get hard again. You'll be fucking hard and wet. I won't need slick when I fuck you, I'm going to fill your ass up with your own jizz and open you with my mouth. So they stay on, but you can come whenever you need to. If I don't want you to do something, you can bet I'll damn well tell you. All the rest is up to you." He put his hand over Walt's again. "Let go. Both of 'em."

Walt did, and Ray stripped his t-shirt all the way off. Walt put his hands back on the bars and turned his head to see Ray for a minute. Ray kissed him, all tongue and teeth. He bit down hard on Walt's lower lip. "You know what to say to make me stop," he said, then bit again.

"I ain't gonna say it," said Walt, looking Ray in the eye as he ran his tongue along his lip, feeling the indentation made by Ray's teeth, licking away the traces of blood.

"Fuck, Walt. You're going to drive me hella crazy tonight, you know that? " They kissed again, just as ferociously until Ray pulled away. He closed his eyes for a second and breathed deeply. "Okay. Move your hands down. More. To the top of the pillows. Good." Ray leaned over Walt's back and took his hands in his own again, taking them off the bars and spreading them wide.

Walt's arms were so low they rested on top of the pillows, but not pulled wide enough for it to be any effort to hold them apart. Ray had positioned him as though he were going to have a massage, his shoulders and his back relaxed and soft. He lay his head down on the pillows, facing to the side so he'd be able to see Ray move around. Walt knew what Ray was going to do to him. Ray slipped off him and stood beside the bed. He took a moment to rub the flat expanse of Walt's back, and Walt arched up into his touch.

Ray picked up the belt from where he'd put it on the nightstand. Walt had been looking at it; he realized when it was gone. It was a good belt, the kind you bought back home at the tack store. Thick, heavy leather worked by hand until it was deceptively soft and supple. Sometimes tooled with patterns, sometimes worn with a huge rodeo buckle, but this one was plain and a little worn with age, a simple metal buckle at one end of the brown leather.

Walt had been around men who wore belts like that his entire life: his daddy, his uncles, his friends. Hell, he had a couple of his own. He hadn't thought twice about them until they got back from Iraq. He and Ray were in the locker room, changing for the start of duty, and Ray had pulled the belt out of his jeans. Walt had watched the belt slide through Ray's hands, watched him hang it in his locker, and had _wanted_ Wanted something he never had before, and, he realized, wanted it from Ray.

"Do you want a count?" Ray asked. He rubbed Walt's shoulders, pressing down on muscles that had tensed at his question.

Ray always offered him this choice. If Walt said yes, Ray would choose the number – Walt never wanted to – but he never told Walt what it was. Sometimes he would count them out loud as he hit Walt, his voice steady even when Walt knew that they were pushing Ray's own limits. Sometimes he'd have Walt count out loud, pausing when it got hard until Walt had caught his breath enough to say the number.

Counting off the licks was the only thing they did that was particularly structured and Walt only said yes when he wanted to feel that this was punishment, when on top of everything else, he craved the burning shame of being disciplined.

"No," he said, turning and looking at Ray again. He didn't want anything that controlled tonight; he wanted to feel as though what Ray was going to do for him would go on forever.

"Okay," said Ray. He took a deep breath. "All right. Let's review for the class. Don't let go of the bars. Your safeword is 'Brad.' If you're in trouble, if you need me to stop, all you have to do is say that overgrown Viking deviant's name. Whisper it, shout it, doesn't matter. I'm gonna hear it no matter what." He bent over and kissed Walt hard. "Lie down on the pillows, but keep your head to the side. I want to hear you cry for me."

Walt moved his head accordingly. There were at least ten pillows under him and he was high enough on the pillows for him to be comfortable, positioned so that his arms were spread comfortably in a position he could hold for a while. He liked that Ray knew he didn't want to be distracted by a cramp in the middle of his beating.

As soon as his head was down again, the strap cracked through the air and hit the top of his shoulders with enough force that he gasped. He barely caught his breath before Ray hit him again, just below where the last blow had landed.

Ray slowed down after the first two, laying down the belt across the top of Walt's shoulders and back, carefully leaving a small space between each stripe. Walt could feel the pattern Ray was leaving each time he was whipped, a second of recognition before the searing pain blinded his senses  
Ray stopped hitting him just under his shoulder blades, pausing to rub the heat he'd built up. He wasn't trying to hurt Walt, but he wasn't being particularly gentle, either, and Walt moaned as Ray massaged him.

Ray started again, the strap working its way up this time, hitting the empty spaces made on the way down. The blows were faster and harder this time and Walt barely had time to take a breath between each one.

Walt kept his head down on the pillow, tried to keep his breath even, to feel the exact sensation brought up every time the belt hit him amidst the widespread throbbing on his back. Then Ray laid down a fast series of blows on top of the first set he'd done, hitting each mark perfectly. The top of Walt's back, just under the knot of his spine, down until the lash licked right under his shoulder blades, and Walt's control was destroyed. He choked out cries as he was beaten, tears running down his face and dampening the pillow his head laid on. The world disappeared: there was nothing beyond the anticipation of the next splashdown of pain, and then the pain itself. Ray moved the belt down a fraction of an inch each time, layering stripes on top of each other.

Ray stopped and put his hand down flat between Walt's shoulder blades. "Look at me," he said.

Blinking away tears, Walt lifted himself a little, careful not to move his hands from where they were on the bars. Ray had taken a seat on the bed beside him, and he just looked at Walt, assessing him, before he gently brushed tears off Walt's face. Walt stared back, focusing on Ray's dark eyes, on how his expression warred between desire and concern. Ray thumbed a few more tears off Walt's cheeks, and Walt wanted to close his eyes and revel in the possessiveness of that touch, Ray's hands on him when he wasn't allowed to touch himself.

Ray took a drink from the glass of water on the bedside table, then looked at Walt. "Pull yourself up just a little bit," he said. "I want you to have some of this." Walt did so, and Ray lifted the glass to his mouth, tilting it back so that it slowly filled Walt's mouth. The cold water soothed Walt's throat, and Ray let him have as much as he wanted, watching carefully to make sure that Walt didn't choke. Then Ray kissed him lightly, his tongue cleaning stray drops of water off Walt's lips before slipping inside. He softly dragged his tongue over Walt's, while at the same time his fingers pressed hard into the welts on Walt's back.

Walt wanted to cry out into Ray's mouth, wanted to kiss him hard and messy until Ray bit him. He didn't because that soft kiss was as much an order as Ray telling him to keep his hands on the bars, as the direction to let Ray hear him cry. So he kissed back just as softly, opening his mouth for Ray without asking for anything more.

"Fuck, you're so perfect," Ray said against his lips. "So gorgeous and so good for me, baby."

Walt thrilled at the compliment, a shiver running through him, the touch on his back turning into a light stroke as Ray kissed him for another minute. When he pulled away he gave Walt another searching glance, but didn't ask him if he wanted to stop. Walt couldn't stop crying, the tears still slipping soundlessly down his face, and Ray traced one as it slid down his cheekbone. When he spoke, his voice was almost hushed. "I'm doubling the belt."

Oh, God. Walt barely nodded. Acknowledgement, not consent. Ray already had his consent: until he was finished with Walt or Walt safeworded, Ray could do whatever he wanted to him.

Ray kissed him again, just as sweetly. "You're so fucking amazing," he said as he stood. He folded the belt in two and Walt wanted to bury his head in the pillow to cover the need on his face. But he didn't have to hide it from Ray, who had known what Walt needed from the very first time they fucked, when he'd pinned down Walt's wrists with one hand and with the other slapped Walt's cock until he came.

Walt was just as hard now as he'd been then, his hips grinding down into the bed, his cock finding no friction between the pillowy comforter and the soft cotton of his boxers. The first stroke of the doubled belt just turned him on more, even as he cried out from the pain of it. He could come, he knew, could focus on the pain caused by the doubled belt. Just thinking about Ray standing above him and hurting him would be enough to get him off, but the emotion brought up by the pain crowded out his thoughts.

As if he knew that Walt's attention was divided, Ray hit him particularly hard in that spot across the shoulders where he'd started the whipping. It hurt like a motherfucker and Walt cried out again, as everything but the sound and feel of the belt across his body fell away. The crack of the belt coming down was louder, the strokes were falling harder and faster, and Walt cried harder and harder, not knowing anything except the pain flooding his mind, taking over his soul.

He lost track of time, had no idea how many times he'd been hit or how long Ray beat him before he stopped again. He was in utter agony, his shoulders and back throbbing. The pain went beyond his skin, he was aching down to the muscle. Even after the welts and abrasions faded, he would have deep bruising that would last for weeks. Every time he moved was going to be hell for some time, and all Walt wanted was for Ray to keep going. He tried to say as much, but his throat was raw and he couldn't stop crying long enough to form words.

Ray dropped down beside Walt on the bed, breathing hard and fast. Walt loved him. So much. Loved him for being able to give Walt this, for _wanting_ to give it to him. He tried to calm his crying because Ray loved him too, and all he had to do was ask for more and Ray would give it to him. He didn't have to, though, because Ray said it first.

"We're not done," he said slowly, his voice fraught with tension. Walt was admittedly zoned out, but he was always tuned into Ray and looked up, worried by his tone. Ray could safeword, too; Walt had made damn sure he'd understood that went both ways.

Ray shook his head and placed his hand on Walt's neck. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Don't you worry about me; I'm just fine. Hard as a fucking titanium rocket, and I'm going to take that out on your ass in a whole different way once we're done here, but this, right now? I love this." He ran his hand up Walt's head, scrunching his fingers through the wet hair. His voice was awed when he started talking again. "Shit, you're totally soaked with sweat. Jesus, Walt, the way you move, the way you sound, the way you just give it up for me – you're better than every titty-fucking wet dream I ever had, and I'd feel bad for every poor asshole who doesn't get to have you but I'm not that much a of sucker."

They were quiet for a minute, as Walt tried to stop crying long enough for him to be able to drink. "That's my boy," said Ray, lifting the glass to his mouth again. "I'm gonna take a look at your back and then we're getting down to it again."

Walt stayed still as Ray ran his hands over his shoulders and back, pausing now and then. He wasn't trying to hurt Walt but the spots he was checking were raw and sore and Walt couldn't help crying. He was so open, so exposed, and so safe with Ray. All of this was a mindfuck, one that got them both off equally.

"You're good, baby," Ray said. "There's some places I'm going to take care of later, but you can take what's coming next." He sat for another minute, watching Walt, touching him. Walt held his gaze, trying to match his the rhythm of his breath to Ray's.

Ray kissed his forehead. "Gonna beat you with this buckle now." He paused after he said it. He wouldn't ask but if that wasn't what Walt wanted, if it was too much, all Walt had to do was say one word. Walt said nothing. He looked at Ray, moving beyond the pain for a minute to connect with his boyfriend, his gaze steady and intent. Ray's eyes were dark and he moved forward to kiss Walt again, cupping Walt's head with his hand. "You wanna tell me how many?"

Walt shook his head. Ray wasn't the type to repeat himself: Walt had said no count, and that normally would have stood, but Walt had already taken a lot, and this was different than anything they'd done so far. Walt had no idea what it would feel like, but it was going to hurt more than anything he'd ever taken. Walt's erection had never really gone down, but he was suddenly wet with precome.

Ray twisted his fingers in Walt's hair, pulling him in. Walt moved as close to him as he could without moving his hands. This kiss was vicious: Ray bit at Walt's mouth, tiny sharp nips that didn't draw blood but made his lips puff up. "You want to know when the first one comes?" Walt shook his head, and Ray smiled at him before biting down hard and fast. The skin broke and Walt moaned into Ray's mouth, tasting his blood in it.

"I still want to hear you," said Ray, pressing a small kiss on the mouth he'd just savaged. "Every cry, every moan. It's all fucking mine and if you try to hide any of it, what we've done so far tonight will seem like a goddamn walk in the park. I've punished you because you wanted me to, but I've never done it because you pissed me off. "

Oh, fucking Christ. Once again, Walt fought not to come, as images of supplication flooded through his brain.

"Hey." Ray said, standing up. "We'll talk about that another day. You've got other things to worry about now."

Walt nodded and lay his head on the pillow again. Ray doubled the belt again and Walt tried to stay loose and easy for at least the first strike. The belt came down on the top of his shoulders, that spot that had been Ray's focal point all night, but it wasn't very hard at all. The first set was like that, easy strokes that played on Walt's skin without trying to do more damage. Walt was crying by the fifth blow anyway, because while this might not be that much, everything that had come before it had left him so sensitive he thought a feather might break him open.

Ray kept up the same low intensity on the way back up Walt's back, like he was using a flogger and not a belt. Walt found himself drifting into the rhythm of the beating as Ray warmed him up. Tears slid down his face but he didn't notice them as he breathed in and out with each stroke.

His reverie broke as the beating changed, the belt cutting into him with force. He gripped the headboard tightly as Ray laid down strokes over tender welts. He was crying again, and as Ray hit him harder, hurt him more, he couldn't stop the deep, gasping sobs coming out of him. But that was okay, he thought distantly: Ray wanted to hear him. Must hear him. Walt was a Marine, he followed orders, no matter the cost to him.

He was so deep inside the pain blooming red in his head that he didn't notice when Ray paused until the whipping changed. The buckle slammed down and he screamed Ray's name. It came down again on the fleshy part of his shoulder, pounding through the layers of thick muscle that protected his bone but there was nothing between his skin and the metal that burned him.

Ray paused between each blow and Walt tried not to anticipate where he would be hit next: it would be worse if his back was tense. Still, he arched up each time he heard the belt slice through the air, mindlessly yelling and crying out Ray's name.

Each time the buckle struck him it was like a punch, so much heavier than when he was beaten with leather, the pain burrowing deep inside him. It hurt more than anything he'd ever known before and he stopped moving up to meet each brutal strike, just lay on the pillows sobbing, screaming each time it hit him.

He thought he was calling Ray's name but he wasn't sure because the rush after each one carried him away and he was high until he was hit again, until he was floating on a sea of endorphins. It felt like coming out of a firefight, every feeling he'd ever had coming up at once, taking him away and bringing him into himself at the same time. When Ray hit the top corner of his shoulder, that place the belt had come back to over and over again, Walt felt the skin break. It was awful and incredible all at once, he couldn't stop screaming. Ray hit him there again and Walt yelled his name as he came. One more blow and he couldn't stop coming and shaking until there was nothing left to him but those feeling and he closed his eyes, letting them take him away.

When he came to a few minutes later, Ray was naked and pressed up to him, his arm wrapped around Walt's waist. Walt turned his head to see him and – Fuck! He might not ever move again, because that hurt like a motherfucker.

"Don't move," said Ray, kissing him and moving away. "I'm going to fix your back up; I just didn't want you to wake up alone."

"Stay," said Walt hoarsely, his voice almost gone. "Please. Just stay for a minute."

"Anything you want, baby," said Ray and put his arm around Walt again, carefully not jostling him or touching his back. "But just for a minute. I want you to take some T3s before you come down all the way. I'm going to have to move you to take off your jeans and clean you up, and I definitely want you stoned when I take care of your back. You need a general antibiotic cream – I've got some stuff that'll numb your skin - and maybe something stronger where you're bleeding. I'm going to have to bandage at least three places, and I've got some stuff they use on the bruises when your armor gets hit..."

Ray was talking fast and shivering a little himself; he was coming down from a different kind of high. If Walt were able to move at all he'd put an arm around him to calm him. Instead he just said Ray's name, softly and gently. It was more than enough. Ray stopped telling Walt how he was going to spend at least the next day in bed and took a breath.

"Jesus Christ, Walt," he said after a minute, his voice husky. "That was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen, you coming under my belt. So goddamn hot, in fact, that I came in my own pants just watching you. I was about to stop, too, but you looked like you were in some sort of bdsm heaven and I wanted to push you more. Never in a million years did I expect to whip you into orgasm."

"You came?" Walt asked, pleased.

"Sure did. Just about knocked me out, honestly, but both of us unconscious was a fucking terrible idea."

"Thank you," said Walt. "So good. I love you." It was the most that he could manage, between his voice and the way he was somehow still riding the waves of aftershock. It must have been enough for Ray, because he kissed Walt's cheek softly.

Walt shifted a little to bring their mouths together. He wanted a real kiss but Christ, his mouth hurt, and he jerked back. Ray looked at him wryly. "I don't know how the hell you did it, between all that wicked screaming, but you bit the hell out of your mouth."

"Suppose you got some stuff for that, too." The endorphins were wearing off and he got a flash of how much he was going to hurt in an hour.

Ray drew his tongue over Walt's mouth, licking at the cuts. It hurt, but not really enough to justify the tears that fell. Ray licked them, too. "Sure do," he said. "You just chill out, Walt. I'm going to make it all better, I promise."

"You already do," said Walt, nestling his head into the soft pillow. He wouldn't go to sleep, not when Ray was going to come back and lay his hands all over Walt's back. It didn't matter how Ray touched him, he gave Walt exactly what he needed. No way was Walt going to miss a second of that.


End file.
